Latch
by heyhihellohard
Summary: Nearly a month after the drowning incident, it became clear that Leopold Fitz wasn't likely to ever wake up from his coma. Unable to let him go, Jemma develops a highly dangerous drug based off GH.325 capable of regenerating brain cells, but the miracle drug comes with consequences.
1. Prologue

"I've made my decision." She stated as she walked into the laboratory, sounding a lot more confident than she actually felt.

Coulson got up from his seat immediately. "Are you sure?"

She'd given it a lot of thought, without a doubt. She had spent every waking second pondering about it, and her insomnia left her with no shortage of waking seconds. She had researched, weighted, made mental lists of pros and cons, analyzed every single piece of data available to her, evaluated the situation from every possible angle, gotten a second, a third and a fourth opinion, done everything she could…but was she sure? No. She wasn't.

"Absolutely."

Slowly, he crossed the small distance that separated them and touched her arm affectively. Judging by the look in his eyes, he saw right through her fake confidence. "Something wrong?

"Sir, with all due respect, I still strongly suggest his mother is contacted before we take action, it simply seems fair."

He nodded. "I know, Simmons, I know…but, as you already know, Fitz listed you as his emergency contact in his S.H.I.E.L.D paperwork and appointed you as responsible for him in a case such as this. I gotta respect his wishes…and he wanted it you."

_He wanted me. _She fought back tears. She'd been fighting back tears for nearly a month. "It's such a huge responsibility, I…I just don't believe I'm the person who should…"

"Jemma." He interrupted, catching her attention immediately. He didn't usually call her Jemma. "I know this is a hard call to make, but Fitz chose you because he trusted your judgment. I suggest you start trusting it too."

"I suppose you're right, Sir."

"Well, then…you told me you'd made a decision when you came in. What's it gonna be?"

She stretched out her arm, showing him the small vial so tightly clutched in her hand that her knuckles had turned white. "We're doing it."

"Okay." Couslon was clearly uncomfortable with the decision, but she knew he'd respect it regardless.

"This isn't one of the drugs they used on you. I studied those chemicals and also some of the stuff we got off Garret as well and I came up with a new formula. It took a lot of work, but the equations all work out…theoretically, it should regenerate his brain. I don't have enough to test it first, and god only knows what the consequences may be but..."

"We're doing it anyway."

She crossed the lab, approaching the gurney in which he lay, eternally unconscious, wires and tubes coming up and down his skin. He was in a coma caused by severe cerebral hypoxia, the doctor had said, with very little chance of waking up. Even if he did, he was never to speak again due to extreme deterioration of the left side of the brain. She reached out her hand, lightly rubbing her fingers against his cheek, feeling the blood pumping through his veins. She held onto that pumping as if her own life depended on it. In a certain way, it did. Her whole world was falling apart and she _needed_ him there to keep her from being torn into pieces as well. No, she wouldn't let him go, she couldn't. As long as his heart kept beating, there was still hope. "Yes, we're doing it anyway. But I will _not_ put him through what they put you, sir. I swear."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Simmons."

Ignoring his words, she picked up a syringe from a table nearby and filled it with the liquid from the vial. Jemma Simmons did not believe in any god but, as she perforated his skin with the needle, she silently begged to every single one of them. _Please, let him live. Please. Please. Please._


	2. The Dandelion Factor

At first, nothing happened.

He lay there for a good few minutes, absolutely oblivious to the injection. Swallowing hard, Simmons began to worry. Standing beside the gurney, attentively watching his inert body, she felt those pesky tears trying to reach her eyes once again. Was her drug not as powerful as she'd thought? Was there really no hope left?

Beside her, Coulson stood silently, his hand placed on the small of her back sympathetically. He was about to say something when Fitz finally reacted.

It started with the most violent seizure she'd ever had the displeasure of seeing. It took her a second to cope with the initial shock of seeing him move so suddenly but, once her training kicked it, Jemma grabbed him with both hands and tried to hold him on his side as his body shook for nearly a whole minute. As soon as it stopped, the screaming started. His face reddened and sweaty, Fitz cried out in what had to be unimaginable pain, holding his head with his hands as if he were afraid it would fall off. His fingernails were so deeply buried in his skin that the blood dripping from his forehead mixed with the tears squeezed out of his eyes.

She wanted to help him more than anything in the world, but Coulson held her back. "Let him be, Jemma. There's nothing you can do."

Left with no option but to watch, she regretted ever even considering using the drug on him. How could she have been so reckless? She'd wanted him back so much she completely dismissed the pain of having to feel your degenerated brain reconstructing itself in unbelievable speed. It was torture, what kind of a person tortures her best friend? Coulson had been right. She did make a promise she couldn't keep. She'd known there would be pain, but it just seemed like a small price to pay for bringing him back… but now she realized it only seemed small because she wasn't the one who had to pay it. He had trusted her, trusted her to do what was best for him, and instead she'd done what was best for her.

Eventually, the screaming died out, replaced by quiet, pained moans. His voice hoarse and tired, he spoke for the first time. "Jemma…"

She broke out of Coulson's grip and ran to his bedside. "Fitz!"

He looked at her and she felt as if the weight of the world had finally been lifted from her shoulders. All he did was _look at her,_ but his looks meant everything. Even as confused, lost and hurt as he was at that very moment, he still looked at her with such intense affection and admiration she felt herself blushing. Oh, how much had she missed that look. She'd feared the drug wouldn't be able to preserve his memories, but he clearly knew exactly who she was.

"Jemma…where am I?" He pulled himself upwards, trying to sit, but he quickly fell back, too tired. "What happened?"

She wanted to touch him, hug him, punch him for sacrificing himself for her even when she'd told him not to, but she knew it was best to let him settle first. "Think hard, Fitz. Don't you remember?"

"We were at the bottom of the ocean, we…we were going to burn our way out of there and…" She was able to recognize the exact moment in which the memory hit him, his mouth opening in shock. "Jemma , are we dead?"

She shook her head. "No, Fitz. We're not."

"Then how did I survive?"

"It's…complicated."

"Well, it seems we've got time. Where are we, anyway?"

"We're in a top secret S.H.I.E.L.D facility hidden in the Himalayan mountains. " She gestured to their surroundings. "This is the best lab we've got that hasn't been compromised by HYDRA."

"And how did we get here?"

"Well, we flew."

He rolled his eyes at her. "We flew? Is that seriously all you're going to say? Just tell me the truth already, Jemma, I can take it."

"Fine." She took a deep breath, trying to gather as much courage as possible. "I held onto you when you pressed that button… I pulled you up with me as I swam. Director Fury saw those distress signals we sent into the S.H.I.E.L.D. network, he was flying above us in a helicopter, he got us out."

"And?"

"And that's all."

"Jemma, we both know you're a terrible liar. There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"

She'd completely forgotten about Coulson's presence until he stepped forward and spoke. "Go ahead and tell him, Simmons."

Fitz's face lit up immediately. "Agent Coulson!"

"It's Director Coulson now." Phil smiled back. "But I'll fill you in later, I better give you some time to talk."

He closed the door behind him, leaving the two alone.

"Jemma, you're making me nervous. Tell me."

"When I pulled you up, you…you were without oxygen for a long time. I haven't a clue of how long, I fainted soon after Fury found us and when I woke up, you'd already been sent here. The lack of oxygen had damaged your brain."

"Cerebral hypoxia." He seemed to have put together all the pieces of the puzzle. "This is a lab. Not a hospital. A lab. Jemma, tell me the truth…did you bring me back to life? Like Coulson?"

"Not like Coulson, like Skye. You weren't _dead_, Fitz."

"Brain dead." He used his arms to push himself up, this time succeeding in getting himself seated.

"Deep coma." The detail wasn't relevant, but she felt the need to correct him regardless. She always did.

"Yet here I am. Good as new. What did you do? There's no GH.325 left."

"Not exactly. I was able to find traces of it in Garret's things. There wasn't much, but it was enough for me to work on a new compound. I named it the Dandelion Factor."

He smiled at her. "Dandelion. As in Leo. You know how much I hate the name Leo."

"And you know how much I like it." She grinned back. He still looked broken, his face terrifyingly covered in blood and sweat, his bare chest still attached to at least a dozen wires, but it didn't matter. He was alive.

She turned away from him for a moment, grabbed a piece of cotton and dipped it in warm water. "This isn't going to hurt at all, I promise." Slowly, Jemma used the cotton ball to wipe away the blood from his face, then cleaned the ten small cuts caused by his fingernails. "There. All better. How are you feeling?"

"I've got what has to be the worst migraine to ever exist but, other than that, I'm grand."

She reached out one hand to touch his forehead. _I'm sorry I did this to you, Fitz. _She thought to herself, unable to voice her guilt. _I'm so sorry._

Not even a full second after they touched, his body jerked backwards, his hands suddenly shifted back to his head, his eyes tightly shut, and he cried out once again. She tried to comfort him, hold him down, just do s_omething_, but every single time her skin met his it seemed to hurt him even more. "Fitz!? Fitz, what's happening?"

Once he'd calmed down, he rubbed his forehead. "You tell me."

Thinking quickly, she grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from a nearby tray, slid them onto her hands and tried touching him again. "Does this hurt?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

Jemma furrowed her brow, confused. "So the pain is caused by direct touch only…I'll have to run some tests. Wait here, I'll get Coulson."

She turned away from him, heading for the door. She was almost there when he called her back.

"And, Jemma?"

"Yes?"

"You have nothing to be sorry for. If it had been you, I…I would've done the same."

She nodded, slightly confused. Fitz wasn't usually any good at knowing what others were feeling. Could her drug have made him more perceptive? Jemma dismissed the thought. That wouldn't make any sense.


	3. The Cage

The tests were brutal. A team of unknown scientists and doctors lead by Jemma had tried just about anything they could think of. They'd taken out a sample of every single thing his body could possibly offer and, once the results were inconclusive, the torture started. He did not discourage the examinations, though. He, too, was a scientist. He understood that the pain was necessary, but that didn't make it any easier to bare.

They had him touch synthetic material that simulated human skin, nothing happened. They had him touch a dead person, nothing happened. Once they moved to animals he got mildly uncomfortable, but nothing to be concerned about. Still, every time he touched a living, breathing human, the voices would come. Mere whispers at first, fast unintelligible words bursting into his brain, making it hard for him to think. In a matter of seconds, the voices would start screaming, increasingly louder to the point he'd feel physical pain. He couldn't tell where they came from, what they sounded like or even most of what they were saying. He didn't dare to speak it aloud, but he knew his doctors were thinking it. Maybe the drug had made him schizophrenic.

He'd been put into a 'special quarantine unit' that strongly resembled a cage, hidden away until the team was able to figure out what was wrong with him. Fitz imagined about a week had passed since he'd woken up, but it was hard to tell time from the stainless white isolation of that hypoallergenic ultra-sterilized cage. He was sick of it all, the exams, the lab food, the leather gloves, the bland hospital clothing, the pitiful look on _her_ eyes, all of it. He wanted his life back, but Coulson wouldn't let him back in the plane. The worst part was that he understood. He understood every bit of it, but he couldn't believe it was happening to _him. _He was the scientist, not the subject.

She knocked on the glass door to give him the illusion of privacy, but they both knew the door to his cage could only be opened from the outside. He signaled for her to come in with his head, noticing the way she pressed her forehead against the cage's surface as if she were taking the world's quickest naps. Dark circles surrounded her eyes and her expression was grim. She was every bit as exhausted as he was.

Jemma took a seat on the far edge of his bed, sighing loudly, making sure there was more than enough distance between them. On her lap she carried a large layer of dark fabric that he recognized as a XXL sized S.H.I.E.L.D hoodie and a clipboard. She did not turn her head to face him, probably not wanting him to notice how hard the past week had been on her, but she did reach out her arm, holding his gloved hand in her own.

"The results of the CT scan are finally in." It didn't seem as if she wanted to continue.

"And?"

"And there's this strange sort of mass…"

"Like cancer."

"Well, not exactly. I've seen nothing like it. It surrounds your brain like layers of an onion. It's too entwined with your vital faculties to be removed, but-"

"You want to biopsy my brain, don't you?"

At last, she looked at him. "Yes."

He glanced at the clipboard. "Are those the consent forms?"

"Yes."

"Hand them over to me."

She swallowed hard. "Fitz, you need to think about the risks. Your brain has just recently healed, are you sure you're okay with someone opening a hole in it?"

"What choice do I have, Jemma? It's either that or spending the rest of my life as an untouchable lab-rat."

"You're not a lab-rat." She seemed almost offended at his word choice.

He tightened his grip on her hand for a moment. Even through the gloves, he could feel her warmth. "I'd like to see the team first. And I really need to call my mum, she must be worried sick, I haven't spoken to her in a month!"

She grinned at him. "I can arrange that."

Fitz pointed at the hoodie on her lap. "What's that for?"

"Oh, yes, that's the best part." She threw the hoodie in his direction, forgetting about their 'always give prior notice before throwing things' rule, and he obviously wasn't able to catch it, instead having it hit him in the head. "Put it on. Backwards."

"Why backwards?"

"Just be quiet and do it already, Fitz!"

Confused, he did not question her any further, sliding the ridiculously large sweatshirt over his body, allowing its hood to fully over his head. "What's this for?" His voice sounded very muffled from under the fabric.

Blinded, he was caught by surprise when he felt her wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his overprotected shoulder. "Thank you."

Freed from the fear of accidentally touching her, he reattributed her hug as tightly as he possibly could. "What for?"

"Dying for me."

"I'm not dead." He rubbed his glove against the back of her head gently. "See? Very alive. Bit more leathery than usual, I suppose."

"Yes, but when you pressed that button, you were 100% sure you would die, and you still did it. I will always be thankful for that. Always."

Feeling his cheeks reddening immediately, Fitz was suddenly grateful for the hoodie hiding his face. He didn't know exactly what to say to her, so they both just sat there, holding each other in silence.

He would've stayed like that forever if he could, but she eventually pulled back. "Oh, and Fitz?"

"Yes?"

She slammed him on the chest as hard as she could, which wasn't really all that hard, but Fitz was not amongst the most strong-built men in the planet, so the blow still squeezed out of him a very manly high-pitched scream. "What was _that _for?"

The pain to the chest was completely worth seeing her smile the way she did. Not one of those sad, pained smiles she'd been giving him all week. A genuine, teasing Simmons smile. "_That_ was for pressing that button and dying for me even though I told you not to."

"I did it to save your life!"

For a moment, she grew serious. "I didn't want you to save my life, Fitz. I wanted you to stay with me long enough to figure another way out, one that saved us both."

"Are you actually angry at me because I tried to die for you?"

"Of course not. Just don't ever do it again." She got up from the bed and walked out without looking back, leaving him there alone, a little confused, very intrigued and mildly aroused. Just like she always did.


End file.
